Mentality Torture
by Sid Hawk
Summary: The world is over as the Suffering continues in New York City. Can humanity stay alive? Is living possible? Rated M for strong language, disturbing images of the macabre and the obscene, drug references, and excessive violence.
1. Prelude

**Mentality Torture**

[The Suffering belongs to Midway and Surreal. I don't own this shit. I just love it. So please don't sue.

Prelude

The streets were red with blood. The world was coming to a close. Cracks in the ground burst themselves open and ripped the street into crumbles. Everywhere Carriers swarmed the sidewalks, vomiting on all the Slayers. The daughters of the Slayers slaughtered cut themselves apart and drenched the Carriers in their blood. The Carriers' skin ripped apart, their fishnets burned off. Their legs thrashed about uncontrollably while the blood from their wounds melted away the umbilical cords. The babies screamed and then lay still.

Meanwhile, the NYPD that still stood were raping the women who came for shelter. Among them was Alex's wife, Rose. She was no longer breathing. Most of them weren't. The ground shook as Borrowers thrashed through the stores, knocking lighters and bottles off the shelves and whipping into each other with their chains.

Mainliners crawled through the street bleeding their acid and leaving a trail of open ground behind them. The tunnels underneath revealed millions of rats running from a couple of Gorgers which were trying to scoop them up and shove them down their throats handfuls at a time.

The street split at the corner of Broadway, where the rioting was non-stop. The screams of the shop owners and their wives were load enough to drive one mad as they burned to the ground under the Arsonists' supervision.

In the middle of Broadway was a pole. Tied to the pole and currently burning is a man named Alex. He was the most important man in New York, but now he's just another burning corpse. Who shall avenge him?

Is living possible?


	2. Decrepit and Dying: Aren’t We All?

Decrepit and Dying; Aren't We All

Decrepit and Dying; Aren't We All?

I had four lines this morning at around 3am and I still feel like I'm dying. I can't believe what's happening right now. My mind feels basically gone, my heart might as well rip itself open and spew out oil. I feel like it's about ready. I'm getting weaker as these nights wear by, my arms feel weak, my head feels light… everything that had meaning has lost it, everything that had hope has either sold it or given it away. This pain is like waves crashing up to a shore of heavy granite and slowly disintegrating it day after day after day. Thoughts no longer construct themselves very quickly…I sit here in front of the gun, ready to pull the trigger one last time, to make it all that much easier. Just to go…

I'm sitting in Alex's room. It's been 2 hours since I've seen him and the only reason I know he's alive is because he keeps pacing the upstairs bedroom, ready for an email. The gunfire hasn't started yet, but what makes it truly obvious he's alive is I can hear him thrashing around in anticipation of the most important message of his entire life.

At last I hear a creak of a chair as he rests on it. He's not a fat guy…big, yeah, but more like filled out rather than chunky. He's pretty strong … he's also really good with an M16. I'm not sure where he got it, I think the back of a rifle shop downtown. Amazing, the shit you can find in New York City.

A crash … it's Alex. Jesus, did he get hurt? I rushed up to find him and see if he was alright. I opened the door to a slow creak and walked out with the .357 I got a few summers back locked safely in my hand. I was able to kill about 6 so far, and I've seen these crazy fucks with the blades where their arms should be. Those motherfuckers killed my girl, and I know they have a common leader…I have to find him…

I round a corner on the way to the stairs and hit the light switch. Darkness. Of course, when the world's ending, everything has to dysfunction. So I step slowly through the halls and make sure to keep my steps soft so I don't make any noise…you never know where those mother fuckers could be hiding. I hear a deep breath in the vent above me. I shoot straight up once. A grunt…a chewing noise sounds. It's disgusting. Sounds like a raw antelope being torn apart by a lion, bones and all. Suddenly the sound stops.

A creak of metal, and suddenly…CRASH!

Through the vent descends a creature with a new look and theme about it. Its teeth were non-existent, and instead there were 4 eight-inch nails. It made a sick gurgling noise, as if choking on blood. It was fat…huge, really, but this apartment has big vents in the floors since it's all concrete. How this thing managed to break its way through seemed hard to guess, but its size was quite substantial. It had a look in its eyes, a hungry look. A look like it was lost and starving. Its mouth foamed with red specks and dissolved bones. Its arms outstretched, it made its way towards me.

I fired once on it just below the shoulder and it kept limping towards me. I got it once with the leg it was leading with and it feel to its knees. It made another choked gurgle and vomited blood. It crawled on its way more. I opened the chamber. 2 more bullets and then I'd have to get more from Alex if he was okay. I closed the chamber and my leg was tugged on. I looked down to see this thing on my leg, about to bite at my shin.

I fired into its back and it looked up and roared at me with a gaping predator-like hole where its mouth should have been and I fired a round into that. Blood splattered all over the floor and my shoes and not to mention its white wife-beater. It rested on the floor and lay calmly, holding my jeans still. I shook it off and took off down the hall towards the door at the end. I opened the door and inside the stair-room a light was dimly on. Flies circled the bodies of half-eaten human carcasses on the stairs. A woman lies naked and still; dead, most likely. Her face is half black, beaten that way. In her hand is a razor and all along her chest and wrists are cuts etched painfully in. Her hands are still white from gripping the blade so hard. We'd only been here 10 minutes; she must have been dead for no longer than 12.

I run up the stairs to find Alex on the floor crying. His arms are covered in the green acid blood that I've seen on him so much recently. He looked up at me and in between sobs he held out a piece of paper in his hands. I took it and read it; fax, no doubt.

**To**: Mr. Alex Hanson

**From: **Department of Human Corrections (Maggot Corruption)

**Subject: **Regards on Rose

Mr. Hanson, your wife is suffering deep mental corruption. Her brain has been warped by imagery unimaginable. I'm afraid her condition slowly worsens as hours go by, sometimes by minute even. Her breaths are getting more excited, faster. Her ever has pushed 103.6 and her eyes are beginning to become more and more faded. Her attitude is growing increasingly worse. It becomes hard to tend to her psychosis and she's beginning to convulse. Random seizures appear and boils are beginning to develop and pop on her back.

Now this is going to come as quite a shock to you, Mr. Hanson. Please understand how hard it is to tell you that out of these popping boils crawl cockroaches the size of my head and they continue to pounce on me. Luckily they fall through and hit the wall. I've laid your wife on her stomach and strapped her down so when she has one of her moments of anger (she throws things across the room, Mr. Hanson, big things … heavy things she couldn't pick up with such ease,) she'll be tied down and if her boils pop the cockroaches wont think to bore straight into her.

I'm telling you, if you don't get here within the next 2 hours I will no longer be able to tend to her and may have to let her go. You wouldn't want that…or at least want to miss it, so I suggest you come and help…you know where to find me.

-**K**

I look up at Alex. His eyes and face are faded from crying. His hands are covered in scars from clawing at the walls trying to cope with the surmounting fear that his wife may be in trouble. He tries to push a smile.

"I trust Killjoy," he says, "he's helped someone like her before…and someone much worse than my wife, at that. I don't know what happened to him…but I hear he was helped quite a bit…"

A door creaks open down the hall. A choked breathing occurs. But this sounds like an underwater breath rather than a blood-throated breath. I round the corner, and light is shining from around 2 feet above the ground. It turns to face me; I duck back behind the corner and listen hard. Alex has his pistol cocked and ready and he points it where the door hangs open. A dragging noise occurs. Slow, steady, and a robotic grunt occurs as this pained dragging increases. The light begins to shine down the hall in my vision. Whatever it is must be no more than 3 feet to the door.

The thing stops in front of the door. All I see is a light. Then it shines over where Alex is standing and I hear a loud grunt of aggression. A line of fire descends upon Alex and he ducks behind his bed. I throw a flash bang out in the hallway and the thing stops momentarily. I turn the corner and look down to see a fat man with a police uniform stretching his hand in front of his eyes to block all the light. His lower half is missing...most of his limbs are broken apart and gone and where his upper half is...out of his stomach are...3 MP5's. I see his eyes are missing, and where they should be is a long, black flashlight stuck right through the head. Thinking fast, I reach down and with all my strength pull the flashlight out of his head. It makes a gurgling robotic scream and begins to fire rapidly at the ceiling. I jump back and kick it in the head between bursts.

It grows confused and suddenly blood appears spraying up my boot. I continue kicking it, each packing thud growing louder and harder. It echoes down the hallow halls and the thing finally thinks to come towards me. I jump back into the room where Alex sits. I duck behind the wall again and Alex unloads into the thing with 4 or 5 rounds. The thing utters a grunt and then no more sound occurs. The flashlight clicks off in my hands.

"We have to go to Hell's Kitchen," he whispered. "We'll take my truck."


End file.
